I suppose I ought to have known you were only--playing with me--as you said--a wretched object as I am now, but--" "An object!" cried Sarah, so anxious to stem the tide of his reproaches that she scarce knew what she was saying, "which appeals to the soft side of every woman's heart, high or low, rich or poor, civilized or savage--a wounded soldier." "Do you think I want to be pitied ?" said Peter, glowering.
"Pitied!" said Sarah, softly.

"Do you call this pity ?" She leant forward and kissed his empty sleeve.
Peter trembled at her touch.
"It is--because you are sorry for me," he said hoarsely.
"Sorry!" said Sarah, scornfully; "I glory in it." Then she suddenly began to cry.

"I am a wicked girl," she sobbed, "and you _were a_ fool, if you ever thought I could be happy anywhere but in this stupid old valley, or with--with any one but you.

And I am rightly punished if my--my behaviour has made you change your mind.

Because I _did_ mean, just at first, to throw you over, and to--to go away from you, Peter.